Reverse oddities : Igloos and school houses

Page 19

NASIVVIK

During my lifetime, many aspects of Arctic life have undergone an about-face from what they once used to be. These changes, which we wrestle with even now, seem beyond anybody's control. The pace of life in modern times has gathered speed beyond leisurely upkeep, and nobody seems capable, or inclined, to slow it down. In this quickening of time, what were oddities then are normal now, and vice-versa.

Prior to present-day town life, Inuit lived in encampments, in extended family groups, rarely exceeding 40 people. Everybody knew each other intimately, and strong family bonds were the backbone of life itself.

"When we lived alone, in total isolation", is a common phrase in the life stories of our Elders. No formal institutions existed to regiment the rhythms of life until we crossed a threshold called modernization.

Now, we live in metropolises on the tundra, laid out like New York City and equipped with every modern comfort. Meetings of every description are the great preoccupations in a life consumed by 'busy-ness'. It's not unusual these days to go for months on end without seeing fellow residents in our communities. And even small villages have acquired more than a share of the problems common in New York.

Arctic life has been broad-sided by Future Shock. Back in time, thievery among Inuit was very rare. Tillijuuq, (thief) was once a shameful stigma to be known by. Now, thievery is so common, that it's almost impossible to determine who might be a thief. Gasoline containers simply disappear, and even the police seem helpless to catch the culprits.

Nothing man-made had ever bettered fur and skin clothing for keeping warm in the Arctic cold. But now, many Inuit dress in Gore-Tex and foam-insulated moon boots, not even so much as a matter of convenience, but as a matter of choice. Once unthinkable, this is one of the more notable reverse oddities.

The traditional diet of country food kept people healthy. The only problem with this source of nutrition was that it was utterly scarce some times. Accounts of hunger and starvation are prominent in much of our folklore. These days, nobody is in danger of starving, but there is an alarming increase among today's Inuit contracting illnesses, such as diabetes, from poor choices in diet and lack of exercise.

Recently with my family, I watched a home movie of scenes filmed in Puvirnituq, Nunavik (Quebec), between 1957 and 1960. I had once lived in that picture, and the scenes were dramatic to behold after the passage of more than 40 years. Igloos are clustered on a snow-packed gentle slope. A one-room schoolhouse stands prominent on a ridge, as if trying to dominate the scene.

My children, who have never known igloo life, found it difficult to reconcile the contrasts of igloos and a schoolhouse standing in proximity to each other. One of my daughters, in all innocence, asked me: "Didn't you go to the schoolhouse to sleep?" I chuckled slightly as I answered, "It was never even a consideration to go to the schoolhouse to sleep when we lived in those igloos!" Low temperatures were a natural fact of life, so people who've lived in igloos don't dwell on how cold it was.

In that landscape of my childhood, wooden buildings were the oddities, while igloos were the natural fixtures on the scene. Hence, this chicken-and-egg sort of question is relevant for younger Inuit who have never known life anywhere but in today's towns: Were the igloos there because of the schoolhouse, or, was the schoolhouse there because of the igloos?

Initially, there were very few igloos around the sites where the federal government first erected one-room schools. When the government delivered the revolutionary imperative of formal education, this singularly yanked Inuit life to start revolving around the locations of the schoolhouses. Prior to that, Inuit lived in seasonal camps, never in one location all the year round.

Practically overnight, the imported formal education system, rigidy incompatible with nomadic living, became the hub of the newly regimented life for Inuit. Eventually, every igloo in the Arctic was forced to congregate around the locations of the schools.

The viability of igloo life is now a wonder for the later generations of Inuit. Instead of the question being, "What was the schoolhouse doing there?" the burning curiosity has become, "My, those igloos look cold! Why didn't you go and sleep in the schoolhouse instead?" The objects of oddity have become reversed, which now is really nothing strange.

What might be considered strange is that many of us Inuit, who once lived in igloos, have survived the cultural sledgehammer of the Qallunaatitut (white man's) formal education system. And, reverse oddities are so common today that many of them have taken over as the norm.